The Jungle Blog

So, this one has been a long time coming, but I was trying to get some photos/videos off my phone, who was refusing to co-operate. However, thanks to the magic of Andrew Victoria, we're back in business. So, without further ado, my trip to the rainforest.

NB: For the vast majority of the time, I couldn't actually see my phone screen due to the glare of the sun, so there's a very real possibility that these pictures are awful.

So, I had to get up really early to go into the rainforest- I was picked up by the tour bus from N Joy and we sped along toward adventure. My tour guide was kinda weird- he kept acknowledging that no one really wanted to listen to him, but this didn't seem to deter him from speaking. He was also morbidly obsessed with Steve Irwin and kept touting how we would be able to see the actual spot where Irwin died (Neato!). We stopped off at a look out point where one could see some of the reef and the jungle.

We then sped along toward a wildlife sanctuary, where there were cassowaries, which can split a man in half, and ducks, which can't but had a go anyway- while I was feeding an adorable little kangaroo, a horrid bird flew up at me to try and get the food for itself, after I specifically refused it anyway for not being cute enough. Yes, I said boo to a goose and in response was viciously attacked. (This would actually be a theme of that day- being attacked by animals.)
But not before I held a koala, a python, and a motherfucking crocodile. Yeah, that's right. An actual, living crocodile. And I held it, with my unprotected human hands. How badass am I right now?
However, the croc wasn't half as problematic as the drop-bear, oh, I'm sorry, I mean 'koala'.
A koala which tried to eat me. As in, sniffed out its meal, leant back and opened its maw- at which point, the keeper stepped in and pulled him out of my grasp. The Koala was named 'grizzly' (I wonder why), so I can say I've faced being eaten by bears both drop and grizzly. I'm pretty sure I'm the most bad ass person in my social circle now. And I'm not even finished yet.
So, in the sanctuary, I saw pelicans, cassowaries and a lungfish (which is fucking horrific, btw), crossing three other animals off my Ozzie bucket list (how do I only have four months left?!). I also fed kangaroos for the second time, as well as some weird birds, and, inadvertently, one overly-eager duck. 
Then, it was on to the river and this is where things get really bad ass.
Anyone who read the last post and clicked on the link at the end will have read how crocodiles on the Daintree river have been becoming more aggressive, and that one croc actually attacked a river ferry a couple of years ago. This is the croc that I encountered on my trip along the river. We were chugging along, and I'll admit I was kinda bored, having only really seen mangroves at this point. Then I spotted two eyes popping out of the river, staring, I thought, right at me. I pointed them out and we all marvelled at this pair of eyes, which belonged to a croc named 'Scarface', as our guide informed us. After a while, the eyes submerged and we all thought that was that. I'll show you my picture versus one I found on google:

So, that's what I saw; pretty cool, but not all that threatening, right?

Found here

That was what I was actually up against. And I say 'up against' because guess what? Scarface resurfaced, and our guide informed us he was stalking the boat. 'Don't worry, though' he added, 'they hardly ever attack boats'. This was not as comforting as he thought. Had I read the article before I went, I might well have abandoned ship then and there, even though this would have simply put me even more in Scarface's domain. So, I can now say I've been stalked by a monocular bull croc named 'Scarface'. Jari, step down as the badass-king of our friendship group. We have a new monarch of badassery.

This guy.

After the river cruise, we stopped off at the point where you could see EXACTLY WHERE STEVE IRWIN DIED! ERMAGERD! After telling us how he died for the third time, TJ, our tour guide, let us off the bus and made us wait at this point for what felt like an inordinately long amount of time. I think he wanted us to fully appreciate that THIS IS THE PLACE WHERE STEVE MOTHERFUCKIN' IRWIN CEASED TO LIVE!!1!

Taste the death.

Then, we had lunch at an ice cream factory. Sadly, this is not what it sounds like- lunch was provided by the tour group and we sat and ate outside the ice cream factory. Still, I did sample some of the ice cream and it was delicious- chilli and chocolate, which I always think of as mine and Freya's flavour. There was maybe a touch too much chilli in there, so rather than cooling my pallet (Cairns is tropical, you know), it just made me reach for the water jug.
Also, while eating I walked into a spider's web. My natural reaction was to shake myself free and then to move on as though nothing had happened. This is the spider into whose web I had walked:

It's known as the Golden Orb spider and can kill people. And I shook its web whilst entangled in it. This is my life now.
Oh, also, the ice cream factory's toilets had a confusing use policy:

"Strictly" *nudge**nudge**wink**wink*. This reminds me of Rik's story about a friend who became a "Taxi driver".

After this, it was onto the rainforest, and I fulfilled another childhood wish by trekking into the jungle, even going barefoot at one point.

Sadly, this was a rather uneventful trek, even though we saw some more venomous spiders and I ate a live ant (I was told I could- it tasted of lemon). We were told to look out for cassowaries, which, as previously stated, can split one in half, but sadly none approached. Oh well, I'm still more badass than you, Dr. Fowkes and all (y)our little friends.

The next and final stop was at the beach, where I encountered this lovely sign:

I love the way the tentacles are artfully missing his lack-of-crotch.
I also want to point out that the beach looked like this:

Ok, the photo doesn't do it justice. Just understand that it was fucking beautiful- the water was pristine and inviting and full of killer jellyfish. *Sigh* Nice one, God, you got us. Also, I totally wrote 'Moi Smells' in the sand but it didn't come out in the picture- but it was definitely there, so, yeah. It's been written on both hemispheres. It's official now.

Anyway, after this we pretty much just headed back to the hostel, but I wanna share one final anecdote with y'all. On the way back, I struck up a conversation with one of my fellow tourees (I don't like how much that sounds like 'Tory', oh well), whose name was Peter. Peter was having a mid-life crisis. You could tell because he kept saying 'this is my trip around the world and then after this, it's settling down and having kids' and then laughing hysterically. Peter lived in San Francisco, but had been all over and was basically filling in the blanks on his travel check-sheet before he reproduced and his life ended. I can only hope I've done as much when my mid-life crisis comes around.
God bless you, Pete, wherever you are, and God help your children.

More photographs to be found here.

First world problems

I am facing an essential dilemma, and one I would genuinely appreciate opinions on, so please leave a comment telling me what you think.

So, I was just asked by an Aussie friend to show them a picture of Esmond; I searched on my computer and found exactly one picture. I then searched on Google and found exactly one picture. That's two that I have access to; one for every year he's been my friend.
I know I'm being precious- I still know what he looks like, I still have the memories that photos are meant to invoke, and, most importantly, I'll see him again, and can take pictures then if I so wish. But I got to thinking: I have few pictures of my first term in Edinburgh. Or my second. I uploaded them to Facebook and then deleted them from my hard drive, supposedly to save space (notably my flight details for Belgium are still on there). Now I no longer have Facebook, access to those photos is gone. And this is where the dilemma comes in: I could easily reactivate my account, download all the photos I have stored on there, and then redeactivate it (remember how I snuck back on a few months ago to create the cast page?*). The problem this creates is that my Facebook page is finally gone for good- I don't get updates, or pleas for my return, and if I want to reactivate my account then it will take a full 24 hours (I've done my research); if I reopen it, however briefly, I go back to getting invited to crap I wouldn't go to even if I were in Edinburgh, people who blatantly haven't paid attention to anything I've said for the last five months writing to me as though I'm their best friend...all the stuff I've come to resent. I don't want to seem a contrarian- I freely admit that Facebook is a brilliant social tool, just not one I can allow myself access to, and so I have to play up its negative aspects. But this isn't even really a problem- I can just ignore it, I'm a big lad. The problem is the moralizing that inevitably accompanies this move.
See, I feel I shouldn't need the photos; I reiterate- I still have the memories. But even memories need stimuli, they rarely come unbidden. But then, not all my memories are positive ones- do I want to go remember all the bad stuff that happened over those two years? On the other hand, if I somehow forget all the bad stuff, don't I run the risk of making the same mistakes? However, there are some extremely positive memories, which I want to hold onto, some of which are probably already starting to fade, if my inability to remember names or events are any indication (which is kind of scary).
But then, I come back to the idea that I shouldn't need the photos. I'm meant to be living in the moment. And I don't mean that as in a 'this is a philosophy I'm espousing at the moment' kind of way. I genuinely think it's healthier to focus on where one is currently than where one's been/where one's going. I want to live that way. I want to be healthy. I want to be able to let stuff go, not hold grudges, not be bitter and resentful. Leaving has helped with this, but it can't do all the work- I have to make a concentrated effort not to dwell on things I can't change.
But the photos would make me happy...I think. Or, at least, they'd sate a thirst. But then, sating some thirsts can just lead to bad habits (alcoholism springs to mind)...

This goes on and on. And on. And I never reach the end. I don't know what to do, I don't know which argument to listen to, and, unusually, I don't know what I want. So, I beg you for your opinions- I implore your wisdom.

*And somehow failed to get any pictures of Esmond. Alack.

Time flies by in the city of light

I just realised that I have now been here eight weeks. That is 2/13ths; this doesn't seem like much until I think about how quickly the time has gone, and suddenly I realise that I'm not gonna be here much longer. I have similar realisations on my birthday. Makes a guy think, you know?

In other news, I took some random pictures yesterday. There was of a massive pile of sawdust that was just sitting outside Yarra, not really sure why:

They were preparing for the biblical flood of vomit. Duh.

Pretty sure it's in the disabled parking spot.

And then there was a dalek eye stalk in the wall outside the rowden white:

PRO-CRAS-TIN-ATE!

Sadly, Declan was not on hand to see all the head I kept when I spotted that Dalek or the incredible skill I displayed in talking at it then running, so my future as the next companion is still not secured.
P.S. Who else is stoked for doctor who on saturday? I may well stay up until four o'clock just so I can watch it live online. I mean, no. I don't do that.

Adrian has expressed his willingness to come to the great barrier reef with me, which would be sweet. Jason has gone to the Great Ocean Road this weekend, and I really wish I could've gone too, but I have an assignment due and he didn't really invite me. At all.

Which is fine, cos he looks like this.

I'm also starting to entertain ideas about what I'm gonna do for my 21st, and suggestions now include: a brothel, the zoo, drunken laser tag, drunken science museum or a brothel.
I say why pick and choose?

A thousand words

Just a quick note to say some of you (like, two out of four) might have noticed that my profile pic has changed twice in the last day. The first change was to the infamous Rowden White sign, seen here:

Ladies.

Whilst I do adore this sign and all it represents, I cannot claim to have had any part in its production; I took the photo (cue swoons), yes, but the central joke is not mine. And so I felt bad flaunting it (this is also why I changed from my original pic, which I also adore, but which was made by the lovely Rosie Curtis). The new pic was not drawn by me, but is a picture of me, sketched by Darryl (who you may remember from my initial rec room 2 post- I don't think he's shown up since). You can see a larger version here:

A commemorative, non-olympiad stamp.

I feel it's ok to display this because while I didn't create it, I was the muse and thus contributed to its creation.

This note ended up not being that quick.

Bats with wings, do your thing

Glad to see you’ve awoken from the hypoglycaemic coma into which you slipped upon viewing photography from the hands of your idol, me.

Well, dial 999, cos here comes some more images captured by my most singular hand.

The subject this time is nothing so evasive as the common garden pancake, but the much more placid fruit bat. Yes, those black cocoons hanging from the trees are not incredibly rotten apples nor some form of shiny metapod, as I first decried, but hundreds and hundreds of flying foxes! My friend John, of penguin fame, drove me down to visit the colony in Yarra Bend Park and even played tour guide, pointing out the various fragrant plants and filling in the rather large gaps in my knowledge about fruit bats (did you know they can swim?) I also got to learn some more unusual facts about the bats from reading the signs- for example, that smell that pervades the bat cave in Chester zoo is not their faeces, but their pheromones, so if you don’t mind it, you may well be a zoophile. Also, it conserves more energy to sleep hanging upside down than to defy gravity and stand up- who knew, right? Anyway, long story short, there were hundreds and hundreds of bats, swarming the trees like gremlins on a plane wing, not moving and perfectly visible in broad daylight, and these were the best I could get for you:

I tried shouting 'use harden' to no avail.

Note the harbinger of death or 'poison apple' look.

A bat in the hand is worth two in the bush. 

Something witty.

And please gawk in disbelief at a video I shot of bat in flight.

Allow me to reiterate: I fuckin' love Australia.

"Sir, I will fight you"

Dear reader, today you are in for a treat even more scrumptious than the one I consumed last night. Yes, those of you who also follow my admittedly sporadic tweets (and thus get the full Wiz-kid experience, as it were) will be aware that last night, in the company of messers Logan and Aspen, I frequented a pancake parlour. Oh, what rapture! Oh, what ecstasy! But that is nothing compared to what you are about to experience, dear reader; gaze, agog and aghast, at a photograph...taken by yours truly. 

Not pictured: a balanced breakfast.

 And, what is this? Another?!

Huh. I'd always pictured them as identical twins.

Yes, even though I purchased a phone some eleven days ago, up until now, no picture taken had the panache nor classiness necessary to be placed upon this blog of blogs. But now, weep mere mortals! Weep at the beauty assembled before you!
In other news, the pancakes were delicious but gave me a stomach ache this morning. Swings and roundabouts.

I went to a readthrough this morning- I hadn't been to one since January* and that was Spirit of the Butterfly, so I'm just gonna go ahead and say I actually haven't been to one since that workshop in October which lead to the infamous 'Rory as Titania' line**. It was immensely enjoyable; at first, naturally, we were all kind of awkward and no one really knew what to say. But then, someone tittered at one of my recitations- I was cast in the role of a clown (playing to my strengths)- spurring me on to greater pantomime, encouraging others, and before long we were having a gay old time with much mirth and we started interacting outside of the script. I'm so glad I got up for it, because to be honest, between the weather (see The Shit Hits the Fan), my stomach ache (see above) and the start time (see NINE O'CLOCK IN THE BLOODY MORNING!!!), I was sorely tempted to skip. But I didn't, and was rewarded. Sure there's a moral in there somewhere, but if I look for it I'll have to live by it.

The readthrough also introduced a new player into the mix by the name of George- after the reading, he and I stood talking and not only did he compliment me on my voice and say he might be able to help me get a job but he smokes a pipe, so he's definitely in my good books. Hopefully, we'll meet again next week at another readthrough, so I'm gonna go ahead and create a tag for him (am I moving too fast?). Anyways, readers, I feel that's enough excitement for you, else you won't be able to get to sleep, so off to bed.

P.S. The title's a quote from the readthrough.

*For the purposes of this blog, I'm counting a readthrough as a reading of a play as a gathering where people assemble to read a script when they have no intention to be in a production of said script, thus discounting The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Hawk Noir and the ten minuters' scripts.

**You know the one I mean.